Dresses
by DasMervin
Summary: Mrs. Lovett loved her dresses, each and every one of them.


**Title: Dresses**

**Rating: T**

**Author's Notes: Just a very small study of Mrs. Lovett.**

* * *

When Albert had passed away, Mrs. Lovett had done the proper thing and worn black.

She'd been forced to sell all of her other dresses, anyway—that pretty blue one she'd sometimes worn, that flashy red one that Albert often said complimented her hips, and the sunny yellow one she'd worn in hopes of rivaling Lucy's golden locks. So she'd kept only her mourning weeds, those black and dismal dresses, and a black hat to squash down over her wild hair that never seemed to behave these days.

She'd worn all black for years—she'd intended to stop after only two, feeling two years was sufficient mourning, and perhaps would send a message to Benjamin Barker, but then sweet Benny had been snatched from her, and it didn't seem like any other color would do. So she'd continued to wear black—black dresses, black shoes, black socks, black everything.

A few years later, she'd gotten red bloomers.

She simply wanted color—color to show that she was out of mourning, but not so much to the rest of the public. They had grown so accustomed to her constant black they might talk, and she didn't want that. So she wore the red bodice, with maybe just a hint of it occasionally peeking out from under her corset. She'd loved the color—it was the first color she'd worn in years, aside from that awful, oppressive black.

As the years rolled by, she would eye other dresses in the store with a green and envious eye—beautiful reds, deep purples, subdued blues, flashy yellows and oranges. She wanted them all—wanted to wear them, to show that she would not be like Lucy and try to drown her sorrows with a bottle of poison. She would be bright and strong for Benjamin, because Benjamin would not want his woman wearing black and committing suicide. He'd want her alive, and living for him, which was just what she'd intended to do. But funds were so short, and she never even seemed to have enough money to eat sometimes, and the only way to afford those dresses would be to part with some of her possessions…she was not willing to do that. She knew people mocked her and called her the magpie, but she didn't care—she loved her things too much to part with them, even as much as she wanted those bright dresses.

When Sweeney Todd came, she wanted them more than ever. To greet him wearing that ragged black dress and that even more ragged red bodice—oh, how she wished she would have been wearing something blue, pale blue, to accent her red hair. But she hadn't been, so she would just have to deal with it. And for a time, that was all she had to wear—she didn't have any other clothes, but he didn't seem to mind, and that made her feel better about herself. Never mind that his "didn't mind" oftentimes seemed like "didn't care." She could look past that.

When the money started rolling in, she finally got the opportunity to buy dresses. She went out immediately and bought and richly decorated red dress, covered in beads with two shades of red striped up the skirt. She often served in it, knowing it made her look absolutely lovely and hoping that Sweeney noticed how she looked—she looked like a woman again, not a disgusting rag-bag. Not like _Lucy_.

Once another week had passed, she had enough money for _three_ dresses, and had selected a blue dress she'd been eyeing for years—rich navy patterened with light blue, perfect for an outing. A purple one, dark and mysterious, with lovely woven patterns all over it. And a yellow one—like one of her old dresses that she found herself missing more often than not. She wore them all in one day, not sure which one she liked best. She'd eyed the other dresses, though—that fluffy pink one, that red and white one, and even another black one with white accentuating the skirt in vertical stripes—how she loved stripes.

But Sweeney never really saw her dresses. He never really looked at her at all. She wore them all in his presence, spinning around, even asking him occasionally how she looked. He would only grunt in reply, and go back to whatever he was doing, that being more often then not brooding. But she knew he'd come around—he was just in a tiff. It would pass, just like everything else would. Just like she knew Lucy was slowly passing. He just tended to harbor things a little longer than most. Then he'd noticed her dresses—he'd notice _her_.

She wondered when the day would finally come and she would get to wear white.


End file.
